


Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester

by nebulein



Series: First Kisses ficlets [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Ficlet, First Kiss, Homophobia, M/M, it's not, this was supposed to be fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-24
Updated: 2006-12-24
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:39:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4088986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulein/pseuds/nebulein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's running. His chest heaving with the effort of pumping more oxygen into his blood, his legs ache, and there's a sharp, stabbing pain in his side. Sam keeps running, as fast as he can. He may very well be running for his life, and Sam knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester

**Author's Note:**

> Some months ago there was a meme going around: _Give me two characters from a fandom (or from different fandoms, because crossovers are awesome) I know of and I will tell you how their first kiss was._  
>  This is what came out of that.
> 
> Written for exsequar.

Sam's running. His chest heaving with the effort of pumping more oxygen into his blood, his legs ache, and there's a sharp, stabbing pain in his side. Sam keeps running, as fast as he can. He may very well be running for his life, and Sam knows it. There's no telling what they'll do if they catch him.

The dead weight of the duffle bag is banging against his knee on every second step, making him almost trip, so he hauls it up and tries to keep is pressed against his chest. It's heavy and his arms are shaking, but his legs are free. He can hear their footsteps behind him, their shouting, and he wills himself to run just that notch faster.

When he sees the long deserted copy shop and behind it the alley where he and Dean agreed to meet up, something like hope is flaring up inside of Sam. He can make it now. Maybe they'll both get out of this alive.

He turns the corner without looking back, and _thank god_ , Dean is standing there. Sam throws the duffle behind the dumpster, where it lands with a dull clonk and a wet splash. Dean looks at him with shock-wide eyes, but Sam has no time to explain. Later, later he will. But first they have to get rid of Sam's chasers.

They're getting closer. Everything happens in a blur. Sam grabs the front of Dean's leather jacket and spins them so Sam is pressed against the rough wall of the alley, pulling Dean with him. It's a bad hideout, but Sam hopes maybe the shadows and Dean shielding his body will be enough. They'll have to do.

Their lips mash together unceremoniously. Dean makes a strangled sound of protest and Sam draws back quickly, whispering "shut up" before he presses their mouths together again. His lungs are burning from the lack of oxygen and he feels like he's suffocating, but he has no choice but pressing on.

Dean's jaw is firmly locked together, so Sam punches Dean in the kidney, just hard enough to make Dean gasp with pain, and then Sam is forcing his tongue between Dean's teeth, preventing any more sounds but a muffled groan. Sam wraps a leg firmly around Dean's hip, keeping him in place, using the wall and Dean to steady himself. This is madness, he knows.

"Where is he?" They're turning the corner; Sam can feel their eyes on him. The blood is rushing in his ears; his heart pounding so loudly he feels like it's going to shatter him any second. He tightens his grip in Dean's jacket and kisses him more firmly. Their footsteps are slowing, and Sam can hear their snide remarks.

"Fuck, _gross_ ," one of them says, true disgust in his voice. Someone spits on the pavement audibly. "Fucking faggots!"

Dean's struggling against Sam, but Sam holds him in a vice grip, as much to keep Dean in place as to try and steady his own shaking. He hopes to god it looks like they're writhing against each other in pleasure.

There are footsteps again, the sound echoing in Sam's ears, and he holds his breath. If they get caught now, they're dead meat. If one of them hates faggots just enough to decide to roughen them up a little, put some 'fear of God' in them, it's over. His whole body is strung, all on edge, threatening to snap any moment.

But then the one with the strange accent says, "leave 'em alone." It sounds like an order. Sam hopes it is. "We ain't looking for a couple fags. He ain't here. Come on, we gotta go back. Tell 'em we lost him."

The moment stretches out, filling up all space until it's heavy enough to crush Sam, and he bites Dean's lip to keep from making a sound. They wait, tension thrumming in the air. And then there's the sound of gravel crunching underneath someone's feet, footsteps slowly retreating, growing fainter and fainter until they're left in silence again.

Dean's the first one to move again, shifting against Sam, startling him out of his stupor. Sam slowly releases Dean, drawing in a shaking breath and then his legs aren't enough to support him anymore. He's slowly sliding down the wall, but Dean's arms come around him, holding him up, and Sam leans against Dean, head burrowed in Dean's shoulder. All the tension has drained from his body, leaving him empty and shaking. There are tears streaming down his face.

"Hey," Dean says, voice a low murmur in Sam's ear. "Hey, Sammy. It's okay. They're gone. Sssh, it's okay. You made it, Sammy. It's okay, they left. We have the duffle. You made it."

Sam nods, even though Dean's words don't quite reach him. Dean takes a step back, lifting Sam's head so he can look him in the eyes. "Let me get the duffle and then we're outta here," Dean says. "Can you stand?"

Sam's legs feel wobbly, but after he's taken a deep breath and steadied himself, he manages to take a careful step back. Dean smiles, reassured, and goes to retrieve the duffle bag from behind the dumpster. When he comes back into the yellow light of the only street lamp, he's holding the duffle as far away from him as possible. It's dripping a little. Dean makes a face and rumples his nose.

"Good aim as ever, Sammy. Hauled it into the only puddle in this godforsaken alley." Sam smiles weakly and follows his brother to the car.

 

Dean's lip is bruised for days after, and there's a crust in the form of Sam's teeth on it, but he doesn't lose a word about it. Neither does Sam.


End file.
